


Clowns and Ferris Wheels

by rubycrowned



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, for marijn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubycrowned/pseuds/rubycrowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a team bonding exercise, or so Steve tells Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clowns and Ferris Wheels

**Author's Note:**

> a fluffy avengers movieverse fic that i've been meaning to write for a year now (oops)
> 
> canon compliant except that tony/pepper is not a thing and coulson is PERFECTLY FINE OKAY??
> 
> for marijn who i'm pretty sure i have promised to have completed for half a dozen missed deadlines - so uh...merry christmas, happy birthday, easter, {fill blank here}, etc. <3

Steve insists it's a 'team-bonding' exercise.

Tony thinks it's a disaster waiting to happen.

He can already picture the look on Coulson's face when he drops the wad of paperwork he's suddenly found piling up on his desk from their latest escapade; because this _will_ somehow all end up being blamed on Tony. It's unfair, really; Tony's only the cause of 46% of unnecessary damages on the Avengers' expenditure bill - just because Clint and Thor don't need much encouragement to wreak their own havoc is no fault of his own.

And this particular group outing has all the makings of ending badly - at the very least for Tony's wallet. Potentially unstable infrastructure, a high density of civilians, potential adversaries who were looking to match Loki for their cunning and wiles.

But then Tony looks to his team-mates (and a voice Tony isn't sure he trusts - although it sounds uncannily like Jarvis has finally managed to get a link directly to his internal dialogue - informs him, _friends_ ) and Clint is pre-emptively declaring himself tonight's most valuable player while approximately no one listens. Bruce is patiently explaining to Thor that Mjolnir may not be an appropriate weapon at all times this evening, and if he's told to put it down, then he should follow their lead ("But it cannot be counted as besting me if I am using an inferior weapon"); even Natasha is quirking her lips into a small smile.

And Steve.

Steve's fingers are twitching at his sides, barely noticeable, if it wasn't for Tony being (possibly worryingly so) perceptive to each and every small detail when it comes to Steve. Which is why, when others might think that they're fidgeting due to the current absence of his shield, Tony can see the way the muscles in his face are also jumping, trying to maintain some sort of calm indifference, or at least simply mild amusement at the others' antics. And Tony knows that, underneath all the Captain America facade of integrity and propriety, Steve Rogers is just as easily excited as the rest of them, barely able to keep the anticipation from his features.

And for such a reaction, Tony is not a man strong enough to resist.

So he takes a deep breath as they pass through the gate and the lights and sheer noise hits them in a way their approach had underestimated.

Avengers Operation: Carnival Night is a go.

***

Last time he was at something resembling a carnival, it had been the 1940s and Steve had seen both Dr Erskine and Howard Stark for the first time. The former is the reason Steve is able to be here in the next century, healthier than he had been seventy years ago, spending the evening with the latter's son, someone he had quickly come to count among his closest of friends.

Last time, Steve had been too caught up in the future, in war, in everything that seemed so out of reach for him, that he had missed the part where he got to have fun.

Tonight, he looks to his left and sees Tony staring back, grin set just a little condescendingly, but his eyes lit up in a way that said he was enjoying this far more than he let on; and Steve was proud to be able to say he could discern the difference.

"Tony," they both turn to meet Thor's consternated frown, "what are these foul creatures? They appear to have Midgardian form, but their faces, I cannot determine their emotions. And those mouths, verily I find they leave me distressed."

The entire group follows Thor's gaze to where two clowns are making balloon animals for children passing by.

"Creepy suckers, aren't they?" Steve has to keep himself from laughing because Clint does no more than nudge the great Norse god in the shoulder as he speaks and Thor almost jumps out of his shoes.

"I never minded clowns," Tony muses, rubbing absentmindedly at the underside of his chin; the scratch of his knuckles against the stubble of his goatee is audible even in this over-stimulating environment.

"Says the person who wears their own mask," Steve deadpans.

"Hey! Pot, kettle, something...there's a proverb in there somewhere - you wear your cowl!" Tony complains, gesturing wildly at Steve, even though there's no offending garment in sight.

"Cap's cowl doesn't hide much, Stark," Natasha points out, "anyone could be inside your suit; we can't even see your eyes."

Not necessarily the mask he was meaning, but.

"Well I vote Thor learns to stick up for himself," Clint declares, "by thowing little coloured balls into the fucker's mouths."

Everyone side-eyes Clint a little, eyebrows raised (except Bruce, who never does seem surprised by much that the marksman gets up to), making Clint roll his eyes in exasperation.

"The game, ye of little faith," he points to the stand a little further off from the clowns, where said game was set up, partially obscured by a hot-dog stand.

All of them have a go. It's a little embarrassing though, when Clint's the only person out of a team of superheroes who is able to claim a prize (opting for a bobble-headed dog to sit in the cock-pit of the Quinjet). The pig-tailed girl who played next to them gives them a look of sympathetic pity as she walks off with an emerald, stuffed dragon almost as big as she is.

Thor looks a little put out that he didn't get to satisfactorily exact his revenge on the clowns, but Bruce appeases him by silently handing him a hat made from long skinny balloons, which seems to cheer him up immediately.

Steve decides not to tell him who made it.

***

Crowds have never exactly been Bruce's strong suit. He's man enough to admit it (a good thing considering the consequences if he ignored the fact).

But something about being with the team - they are now, even if he's not convinced that ticking time bomb wiring them together has been completely disabled - keeps him steady enough to keep the other guy at bay.

The problem is, no matter how enjoyable tonight is, how honest to god _good_ it is to see everyone relaxing in a way they rarely do, carnivals are a whole different beast to a regular crowd.

Yes, there are masses of people everywhere. Yes, the noise is loud and constant. Yes, there is disorder and barely contained chaos. But on top of that is the lights (sometimes Bruce wonders whether some of his triggers are similar to other human disorders, like epilepsy, and whether that’s significant), blinking and flashing everywhere and at unexpected intervals. There are the extra sounds, not just voices and screams (of delight not terror for the most part, though), or the predictable and familiar sirens of emergency services, but the whirrs and beeps and clanging bells of the games and attractions, the almost supersonic pitched squeals of small children hyped off too much sugar and excitement. They come from all around and Bruce can't predict them enough to soften the blow; he can handle a lot, but eventually the strain can begin to show if nothing else is focusing his attention.

"Hey, Banner!" Clint's voice echoes above the swarm, and Bruce pinpoints him some small distance away, standing by an array of arcade games which are crammed between the entrance to the haunted house and the cotton-candy stand. Nat is next to him, trying not to look too impressed, and Thor turns around as Clint yells out, waving over to Bruce with the hand not cradling a jumbo bag of cotton-candy. Tony and Steve seem to have disappeared. "Come give us a hand, will ya?"

It's nice, he thinks, how sometimes he can almost swear that the others no exactly when he needs a hand, or just the smallest of distractions to keep everything under control. They've come a long way from suspecting every pin drop is going to set him off and for that he's grateful (they've also stopped Tony from poking him with sharp and/or electrical objects at every given opportunity, but, if he's honest, that was kind of what made Tony Bruce's favourite in the beginning - he doesn't need coddled, and Tony always had faith that Bruce of all people would know his own limits).

"The claw machine?" he asks sceptically when he reaches the others. How they thought this was a game for him is possibly better left unknown.

"You are a great scientist," Thor booms, apparently oblivious to the sugary pink substance stuck to his beard, "Clint thinks you can use it to defeat this machine, though I am convinced it has been enchanted to keep its prizes for itself."

Bruce eyes Clint.

"Physics? And...things?"

"Think you're up to par, Bruce?" Nat raises an eyebrow and it looks like a challenge; Bruce wonders how many attempts she's already had.

"Why not?" He can't remember the last time he got to try something as inane as this, and he supposes that the boys might have some sort of misguided point regarding his ability to succeed at such a game. "How hard can it be?"

***

When Bruce first inserts some of his tokens into the claw machine, he looks almost cocky, a look Natasha isn't sure she's seen on him before, but which makes her smile, just a little, because the doctor is slowly but surely beginning to relax around them. And she has to admit, she quite likes the guy.

Okay, maybe also a little because she can’t help but look forward to him failing as miserably as she did.

But as Bruce's token strip gets steadily shorter, so does his patience it appears.

The problem is, Bruce is good at hiding his emotions when he wants to - needs to be if he's to keep the big guy inside - and that means that, when the Angry Bird's plushie slips from the claw's grip _just_ before it reaches the prize drop zone, Natasha is still as surprised as everyone else when a guttural roar rips from Bruce along with the majority of his clothes, the Hulk quickly taking the doctor's place.

Natasha, Clint and Thor immediately go into reaction mode. Harm minimisation before the big guy has a chance to get too angry is something they've found essential in practice; Bruce doesn't often lose it in situations where the Hulk isn't called for, but they've all learnt that there is a short window of time in which they have the opportunity to calm him enough that they can communicate with the Hulk, to turn him from green-skinned rage monster to a somewhat simple-minded, but relatively considerate being.

Thor immediately plies Hulk with the last of his armful of greasy carnival food, then bolts to find more for both of them while the Hulk takes minimal time to demolish the two corndogs and jumbo slushie handed to him. Natasha exchanges a glance with Clint, wincing in half-anticipation for a sudden brain freeze to set him off, but it never comes and, if anything, the Hulk looks somewhat more satisfied after the last of the icy drink has disappeared.

"Having a good time, buddy?" Clint asks hesitantly.

The Hulk makes a move to sidestep them both, in the direction of the claw machine, a low grumble passing his lips that sounds suspiciously like "Hulk, smash."

"No, Hulk, you can't break the machine to get the toy," Natasha reasons with him - she knows he may appear a monster, but there is some underlying knowledge there if he can see through the fog of rage which often clouds his vision, "that's not how it works."

"Yeah, mate, and if you smash that, then Coulson is going to smash me, because you just _know_ that it will all get blamed on me, somehow," Clint adds.

"Maybe because you're the one that thought Bruce and the most infuriating arcade game in existence would be a good mix?" Natasha suggests with a snort. After this long working with Barton, she didn't think she could possibly underestimate the stupidity of some of his plans; yet, every time, she's proved wrong.

"Well that's why you should have stopped me! You're clearly supposed to be the voice of sensibility here, Nat."

"I don't even-" she shakes her head at Clint's attempt at logic, actually unable to form a response that doesn't involve her knee-capping him, and remembers that the Hulk is still standing in front of them.

He doesn't appear particularly angry still; in fact, he's looking almost forlornly at the claw machine now, not paying any attention to Natasha and Clint's conversation.

"He might just really want one of the prizes?" she suggests.

"Well Bruce did spend a bit of time trying for one, I guess," Clint agrees, nodding to Thor as he strides back to them, laden down with hot dogs and popcorn, "You able to keep this guy amused for a few minutes, Thor?"

"Of course; Hulk and I shall stay and feast whilst you and Natasha go and- where are you headed exactly?"

"Five minutes, and we'll be back," Natasha tells them both.

"Holler if you need us!" Clint calls over his shoulder, already on the hunt for a promising stall.

Natasha settles on the firing range and takes only two attempts (one to determine the error of the sight and another to play properly; just as Clint had taught her back in New Orleans) before she knocks down all the tin silhouettes and selects the largest of the prizes left on display behind the unimpressed figure of the stall-owner; she bases her decision on the presumption that the Hulk won’t be too fussed by which she chooses, as long as he gets his prize.

"Ha!" comes the call from her left as she rounds the corner back to where she'd left Thor and the Hulk. Clint nudges her with the head of an oversized teddy bear, complete with resplendent red satin bow around its neck; "Mine's bigger than yours."

"First time for everything I suppose," Natasha responds drily, "we'll just have to see which the Hulk prefers, won't we?"

Unfortunately for her, it appears the Hulk is rather fond of Clint's toy, sitting it in the palm of his left hand while he strokes its furry head fondly with the index finger of his right.

"Fluffy," he mutters.

"It is, isn't it, Hulk?" Clint says smugly, smirking at Natasha. She won’t hear the end of this for months, she _knows_ \- as if this was some legitimate contest between the two of them.

"Well what am I supposed to do with this then?" she shakes the stuffed animal in her hand.

"I am told that these toys make quite wonderful gifts," Thor notes, eyeing Natasha's prize, "I don't suppose Jane might like one?"

"I'm sure she would _love_ one, Thor," Natasha quickly agrees, thrusting the toy into his hands, "You take this one for her."

"Are you sure Natasha; you won this with your own great skill."

"Absolutely, it's all yours."

With Hulk sufficiently mollified, although still very much big and green and not-Bruce, they all begin to wander further around the carnival, ignoring the looks of the rest of the crowd. It's not like, as a team, blending in is something they've ever been all that good at.

And speaking of the team, Natasha has absolutely no idea how Steve and Tony managed to avoid that near-disaster.

Maybe they could teach her a thing or two.

***

"In here." Steve tugs at Tony's elbow and pulls him through a dark doorway.

Tony stumbles after him and spends a half second contemplating how tonight had taken such a turn of events, but then he registers his surroundings; a catalogue of dimly glowing arrows and ghostly handwriting alternatively beckoning them forward and ordering them to turn back now while they still had the chance.

There isn't much light for Tony to see Steve's face, but as they squeeze through the archway to properly enter the _House of Horrors_ he can see Steve's features twist into an expression of anticipation and feels his fingers tighten where they still wrap around Tony's bicep.

"Because we don't see enough terrifying things every day?" Tony breathes close to Steve's ear. It seems wrong to speak normally when at any moment a poorly painted ghost might drop down in front of them, and he can feel Steve shiver as he speaks, before turning his head a little, not quite making eye contact with Tony.

"This is something I remember doing…before."

And Tony can't understand everything that Steve's gone through - is still going through - but even his fucked-up sense of compassion knows enough that it's been anything but easy; he knows enough about the vacant look Steve sometimes gets in his eyes, and the hoarse screams that echo from the room down the hall in the pitch of night that he loosens Steve's grip from his arm enough that he can gently link them by the hand and pull them forward into the dark.

***

"What is this?"

Thor studies the game before him; the tall meter covered with brightly coloured, blinking lights, and the teenager currently swinging a wooden hammer onto a platform at the base - as the hammer strikes, the meter begins to fill, red and yellow bulbs lighting up alongside it. The boy kicks at the ground in frustration when the meter halts half-way up, whacking one of the other boys laughing at him round the head as they wander away, clearing the space for Thor, Natasha, Clint and the still-very-green Hulk.

"The strength test," Natasha explains, "You have to try hit the platform hard enough to get the bell at the top to ring."

"I want to play," Thor announces, nodding decisively, "I am not so well suited to these games of cunning and delicate aim as you; but Mjolnir and I shall make quick work of this 'strength' test."

"Uh-" Thor stops when he feels Clint's hand tugging at his forearm, raised to sling Mjolnir from his back; "You can't use Mjolnir."

"But it is my-" he cuts himself off when he sees Natasha's expression. One doesn't argue with that.

He sighs, and possibly mutters a comment about _puny Earthling weapons_ as he steps up to grab the mallet resting on the muddied grass, but he's already over it; it is nothing worth spoiling such an enjoyable evening.

Besides, Thor knows he will destroy this game whether he uses Mjolnir or not.

As predicted, the bell rings out, loud and clear, barely a moment after the hammer collides with the ground - even with only half Thor's strength behind it, catching Clint's gesture to take it easy at the last second. Still, the wood splinters with a satisfying crack on impact, and Thor looks sheepishly at the round-faced man glaring at him. He's about to apologise, and recommend that he make the replacement of sturdier materials when-

"Hulk _smash_!"

Thor turns just in time to see the Hulk push past Natasha and Clint and, disregarding the broken mallet, brings his fist down onto the target with what is certainly all of his strength.

The bell dings out again, but this time it is cut short almost immediately, as it rockets straight off of its bearings, flying straight through to crash into the popcorn stand across the way, shattering the glass to fall amongst the food and earning furious looks from all carnies involved.

"And _that's_ our cue to leave," Clint announces, patting what he can reach of the Hulk's shoulder and murmuring a "Well done, buddy, but we need to leave five minutes ago."

"What about Tony and Steve?" Thor asks as they quickly move back the way they came.

Natasha and Clint exchange a look.

"You go find Stark and Steve," Natasha tells Clint, "Thor can help me if I need it."

As Thor hooks his hand around the Hulk’s elbow, he is certain they must come again – it is much more fun than playing on the Wii machine with Clint and having Tony yell at him for throwing the control stick through the television screen once more.

***

_Well it lasted longer than expected_ , Clint has to admit to himself as he tries to find the best vantage point to find Steve and Tony; it was never very likely that they'd manage a night out as a team without a horde of possessed pumpkins appearing (Clint _hates_ Halloween) or some form of self-sabotage. He sighs to himself as he scales the rickety building holding the carnival's excuse for a house of terrors. _One day we'll get it right_.

He has to admit, they're a rag-tag bunch - no one, not even Fury, could really argue that they were a logical team to put together at the outset. And for the first few weeks, even after New York and Loki, Clint could see exactly what Bruce meant when he referred to them as a time-bomb. When Tony moved them all into Stark Tower (he can call it the Avengers' all he wants, but they all know it screams Tony and that they'd never be in such digs if it had been down to Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D), Clint spent a solid three days waiting for someone to have their bones broken. Probably Tony's...okay maybe his. Almost definitely at Nat's hands.

But - slowly - it feels a little more like they're the family Clint doesn't remember ever having. And it feels a little like he's going to jinx it just by thinking such things, but when Jarvis is begging Tony to stop trying to programme Dummy to manoeuvre the stairs from his lab to the kitchen to fetch him coffee and Natasha is curled cat-like in the corner with limp and bedraggled hair after the boys use all the hot water ("You're a billionaire, Stark, you can't afford better water heating?"; "It's called _environmental responsibility_ , Natasha") and Bruce is trying to catch up on the latest issue of _Nature_ \- and suddenly Thor's booming laugh cuts through it all, turning into a drawn-out chuckle as he watches Tom and Jerry chase each other around on the 110" flat-screen mounted on the lounge wall, it...it feels nice is all.

Even head and shoulders above the majority of the general population, Tony and Steve blend into the crowds fairly well while in casual clothing - at least compared to the seven-foot god and even larger shirtless green...Hulk (it feels wrong calling him a _monster_ , or _creature_ – disrespectful to the friend hiding in there, somewhere) heading towards the exit with Natasha.

But this is what Clint's good at, and it takes less than a minute of darting eyes amongst the masses of people still milling about when he shakes his head, a soft smirk tweaking his lips.

Bingo.

***

"You weren't actually scared were you?"

Steve shakes his head vehemently, ready to deny this to the end.

"'Course I wasn't, Tony. It's just a sideshow at a carnival. Fury is more terrifying than that at least forty percent of the time."

Tony absolutely crows, releasing Steve's hand for the first time since they entered the 'House of Horrors' in order to clap his own together. He tries to flex and stretch the sudden cold emptiness from his fingers.

"You were totally scared! I can't believe this; Captain America afraid of crappily animatronic werewolves and underpaid teens wielding pretend chainsaws."

"Just Steve," he reminds Tony softly, not entirely sure he'll hear him over the noise of the carnival. And louder, "It was just a bit...more than what it was in nineteen forty."

They're quiet for a minute, before Tony nudges him with his shoulder, and Steve looks over to him.

"C'mon," Tony says with a grin, "I know something that can't have changed much in the past seventy years."

Steve can't help but smile as Tony passes over the last of their tickets, even let out a short burst of laughter as they step onto the Ferris wheel and Tony mutters something about, "This better not be the _same_ as the one from nineteen for- yep, nope, that is definitely not stable; Steve if we die in some freak accident because I'm helping you be all nostalgic and well-adjusted or whatever then I am putting all the blame on you. Just so you know."

The wheel lurches into movement after a moment and, although a little jerky, Steve suspects the wood and steel contraption is more solid than it'd have you think.

"Also," Tony mentions conversationally, "that last kid? The one with the blood stained shears? Would beat Fury hands down on scare factor nine times out of ten."

Steve looks over to see Tony staring, deadpan, out at the lights of the city, slowly coming more into view as they gain height, and snorts into his hand.

"Maybe," he concedes, "Not Coulson, though."

Tony meets Steve's eyes with a twinkle in his own.

"Well of course, Steve; Coulson could make Satan cower back into his pit with a single look if he wanted to."

"Don't exaggerate now, Tony," Steve tries to frown convincingly, "He couldn't do it with _just_ a look. That's crazy. He'd need a biro as well."

This time it's Tony who bursts out laughing, and their car starts rocking dangerously as Steve joins him. It's not even particularly funny, but. It's easy. It's nice.

"Hm," Tony allows, "We may have to agree to disagree. Or at least wait until the day that showdown occurs."

They settle back into their seats in a comfortable silence, sides pressed up against each other because the Ferris wheel cars aren't made for super soldiers.

The Ferris wheel pauses at the top for a minute, ostensibly to let them take in the view, so altered since the last time Steve visited a fair.

"Thank you. For tonight," he says into the night, not moving to meet Tony's gaze, which he can feel wandering curious over Steve's features. He can just catch Tony give a swift shake of his head in his peripheral vision.

"It was your idea, remember?"

"Yeah, but-" and Steve doesn't really know how to explain.

How to explain that last time he went to anything like this he was a foot and a half shorter, years and decades younger, with Bucky.

How to explain just how much it means to him that Tony has stuck by him tonight, if only to humour him, providing a buffer and company and _himself_.

How to explain that it's not just tonight, not really. How tonight he's been happier than how he's spent most of his months since waking up; but that all the exceptions to that have always involved Tony, front and centre.

Hell, he doesn't even know how to explain it to himself for the most part.

But when his eyes do turn and find Tony's staring back at him, his heart beats a bit faster and he thinks maybe that last bit is a lie.

_Thunk._

Something hits the back of their seat, just as the wheel starts spinning once more, taking them on their descent back to solid ground. They both turn around as much as they can to look down behind them.

"Hey, assholes!" comes the cheery call from below and Tony slumps into his seat with a groan.

"We might have had a slight, uh, situation," Clint yells up at them.

"What'd you do, Barton?" Tony hollers back, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Oi! Why do you always presume it's me?"

"Probably because it always is," Tony grumbles, adding begrudgingly when Steve elbows him, "Well, when it isn't me."

Steve rolls his eyes and calls back to Clint.

"We'll be down in a minute."

***

Tony doesn't even want to know how he ended up here.

He comes to a stop next to Natasha, but she only shrugs when he sends her a bewildered stare.

The two of them, Steve, Clint, and a Hulk that Tony is fairly certain they didn't arrive with stand in silence as they watch the scene before them.

The carousel was apparently on the way out.

That still doesn't explain why Thor is currently riding one of the plastic horses, with a bag of cotton candy in one hand and a stuffed unicorn wedged under the opposite arm, balloon hat still firmly secured to his head.

"To victory, fine steed!"

Tony doesn't think he wants to know.

But he can feel Steve's warm presence at his side, every single one of them is grinning, and they have at least another twenty seconds until those particularly angry looking carnies get close enough to worry about.

A successful mission it would seem.

***

**Author's Note:**

> my first venture back into avengers fandom for a while so, as per, comments = love
> 
> xx


End file.
